


Between Apparitions and Lagoons

by illusionists



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bartenders, M/M, Minor Alcohol References, Several other character mentions/minor references, Slow Burn, Wraith!Felix, anyway, i think. i hope at least., merman!sylvain, overall lots of cameos, urban fantasy au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27721958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illusionists/pseuds/illusionists
Summary: The clock in Felix Fraldarius’ workstation said it was almost midnight, but the belltower in the city center had rang eleven chimes.He was more inclined to believe the belltower, anyway. When he counted on his fingers, it meant the red-haired mer had been occupying the same seat at the bar for 3 hours.______________________________Felix's life can be watered down into a routine of sleep, bartend, repeat.Things slowly start changing when a regular takes interest in him.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	1. Enter the Headache

**Author's Note:**

> WOW LONG TIME NO POST...
> 
> This was something I've had in my files since... September? It was originally going to be a 3+1 fic for the first day of a Sylvix week, in which the prompt was urban fantasy aus. However, I went wild. I've written so much, I had to break this into chapters instead of posting at once as I originally wanted. I prefer this, in a way, because I have a lot planned, outlined, and drafted for a whole "series"! 
> 
> ANYWAY. I hope yall enjoy my hot takes

The clock in Felix Fraldarius’ workstation said it was almost midnight, but the belltower in the city center had rang _eleven_ chimes. 

He was more inclined to believe the belltower, anyway. When he counted on his fingers, it meant the red-haired mer had been occupying the same seat at the bar for 3 hours. If Felix cared- _and he didn’t_ \- he’d warn the mer to just go home to avoid drying out.

But, Felix knew this customer. Recognized him as one of the regulars that came and went in the beaten down tavern he worked at; _The Monastery_.

  
  


Why it was called that, he had no clue. At one point, in the distant past, it was a real monastery. Saints lived in these halls, sang and wrote Gospels to the Goddess. But, now? Felix couldn’t stop the smirk that came to his face when he considered how they’d react to what this place had become.

_The Monastery_ was one part of a larger, aged whole. There were faux-luxury shops, gambling halls, trade and auction rooms, betting, fighting, and gaming rooms--- All crammed into the various spaces of the building. With how intricate the layout of The Monastery was, Felix sometimes didn’t doubt this used to be a holy place. 

That, or it’d been operating the exact same way all these years. Which also seemed likely with how outdated everything was in the taproom.

Felix couldn’t deny whoever owned this place was a genius, though. The tavern was placed in the central point, stationed where a main hall would’ve been. To get anywhere else, you’d need to pass through the bar.

It was a flawless business tactic, considering the obscene amount of money that flowed here nightly. Because of the many attractions, and a new restaurant addition, The Monastery became a hot spot for singles, or anyone looking for a good time.

… Which had led Felix to where this train of thought had begun- the mer with an excess of hormones, hitting on everyone he saw.

  
  


He came a few times a week. Like clockwork, he arrived at 9 chimes, and left at midnight; that being the limit his mer body could handle human form. His order could be guessed the second he walked in, too, and Felix usually found himself making: _a blue lagoon-_

_Oh, and do that cool little smoky-thingy when you serve it._

_Goddess,_ Felix hated how clearly he heard the shithead's voice.

Being a wraith- or rather, _half wraith_ \- meant Felix was a walking party attraction of his own. Guests tipped extra if he wrapped the drinks in a cloud of _death-smoke_ and unfurled it to reveal the drink inside.

However, being half human meant he dealt with a lot of shit. Both from bar patrons, and the people in his daily life. The wraith part made him half mysterious, half cool, and half acceptable. The human half made him half weak, half disgusting, and other things he didn’t care to remember. When he combined them, it made him wholly unacceptable to bring home to anyone’s parents. Wraiths were still seen as omens. Some things didn’t change.

So, he was thankful for that at least. He liked not being pestered or bothered.

He could use some of the typical wraith abilities, but all wraiths had death-smoke curling around them, so it was no different than waving a hand, or kicking a leg, to control it.

What made half wraiths different from pure wraiths was their _form_. Full-blooded ones usually appeared as apparitions, able to move their spirits from vessel-to-vessel if they wanted to. Half wraiths usually had the death-smoke, _their_ _essence_ , as the only indicator of their heritage.

That mer lazily signaled for another drink. All of it being on a tab his father paid. _Truly obscene money, indeed._

A bitter part of Felix wished the mer would just dry up already and stop hogging his bar.

  
  


From the entrance, a medwitch with a bouncy blonde bob walked in. She had just gotten off her shift, her scrubs giving it away. She didn’t look like the type of gal that spent her time in bars, but Felix knew her as the lady who hung out here with her younger brother after work. The medwitch made the mistake of sitting next to the mer, and, _oh man-_

_Of course_ , the mer instantly hit on her. “Hey, baby,” he purred with a wink. “You here alone?”

  
  


He had shitty lines, and the medwitch deserved to be unbothered. Felix had to intervene. “Hi, Mercedes.” It came out flat, but he forced a small smile to seem somewhat genuine. 

When Felix liked a patron, he made an effort to learn their name. People tipped bigger when they felt familiarity, too.

_And that was exactly why he didn’t know the mer’s name._

Mercedes wasn’t difficult. She only ever drank water, never made a scene, and was a pleasure to serve.

She ignored the mer entirely- as she did with anyone who hit on her. “I feel adventurous tonight,” she announced, “pass me a soda.”

Felix slid a can across the bar. Mercedes’ soda orders were few and far between, but he already knew what she liked. “Is Emile coming?” 

  
  


“I can treat you better than he can~,” the mer drawled, butting his way into a conversation that was purposely excluding him.

  
  


Medwitches were smart, advanced. They could scent out certain things, such as species and ailments, which made them exceptional healers. What gave the dry out away, Felix didn’t know, but Mercedes angled her head as she spoke with the most deceptively sweet tone, “Don’t you have an ocean to return to? You will be nothing but skin flakes soon.”

_Thank the Saints_ , someone said it for him.

The mer blinked slowly, surprised. “How did you-” he stared at her hard. A frown formed on his face. Felix spotted a patch of already drying skin. “You’re a witch,” the mer said with distaste in his voice.

He stopped for a second, shook his head, and said, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. You’re just _so_ not like the other witches. You’re different. I like that.” Taking a long sip from his drink.

How did he _just_ figure out she was a witch? As if the patch on her scrubs wasn’t a clear sign- bell shaped, eggshell blue with a white dove inside a golden heart, the words on the bottom reading _‘Children of Cethleann’_.

True, anyone could be a healer or a medic, even humans. But the _Children of Cethleann_ were comprised exclusively of witches who had natural healing magic- which was increasingly rare.

  
  


Mercedes’ eyes darted from her soda to the mer, considering whether to dump it on him or not. Had her brother not walked in, she likely would have. Emile towered over the mer. His harsh eyes narrowed as he growled, “She’s married.”

Whether the mer didn’t notice the ring on her finger, or didn’t care, was beyond Felix.

He met her wife only a handful of times- a promising, young sorceress who worked her fingers to the bone- Annette

It certainly wasn’t the first time Emile had to step in when someone hit on his older sister. Granted, she was more than strong enough to hold her own grounds. But Emile had a soft spot. Felix mouthed a _‘Thanks’_ , and slipped a neat whiskey over. 

He nodded, taking the drink.

Emile and Mercedes moved to the opposite side of the bar; as far away from the mer as they could get. And, _damn,_ if that didn’t make Felix hate him more, he wasn’t sure what else would. To drive away one of the regulars he liked? Unforgivable.

The mer snorted and took another sip of his quickly emptying drink. “Witches, huh?”

  
  


Felix only impatiently tapped his claw-tipped fingers on the old, oak counter. This shift couldn’t end soon enough.

He kept blabbing on, probably had been the whole time, but Felix didn’t care enough to pay attention. _“Most mermaids are so prissy, witches are too independent, and the Fae? Like I’d even think about going there. They’re all dragons. Sprites are okay, I guess, if you look past their size. Vampires and Angels both are too self-righteous. Hard pass. And don’t get me started on shifters-”_

By the Saints, this mer could talk all the way until his miserable little existence dried up. Which, by the looks of it, was awfully soon.

  
  


_“Me? Personally? I prefer human women-”_

  
  


That was all it took to set Felix off. His death-smoke grew darker, and he slammed a fist to the counter. Oak creaked, drinks shaking, he spat, “You’re an absolute sleaze and you’re killing business. _Get out_.”

The mer scoffed. “Killing business? I _am_ the business, _okay?_ ” His face was as smug as ever. 

He lifted up his drink, adding, “And keep these coming, _got it?_ ”

Felix snatched up the damned _blue lagoon_ and dumped it in the sink. For a second, he contemplated how much shit he’d be in if he reached over and strangled the mer. It was almost worth it if it meant he wouldn’t step foot in this bar again.

Maybe he let the human women comment get to him. In his defense, however, his mother was a human. And he hated the way his mother got treated regularly. Even by his own bastard dad. While other entities usually snarled at Felix’s mom and his human half, no human ever judged his wraith half, nor were they scared of him.

He found himself getting that way when humans were brought up.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Fish,” Felix snapped.

Okay, maybe he did. That was Felix’s job, but it didn’t matter.

“Easy there, Legs,” the mer said with a gentle tone. “Be a dear and make me another drink.” He flashed a bill with an absurdly big number on it.

  
  


Did he fuck with the wrong wraith, though. Felix hated bribes… which was a little ironic considering where he worked. But anyone who thought for a second they could buy Felix out was dead wrong. He snatched the bill and ripped it up in front of the mer. 

The mer’s eyes widened. _Good._

“Damn, dude, what’s your issue?”

_His_ issue? Felix crossed his arms. “I’m gonna tell you _your_ issue, _Alphahole_.”

It was far from the first time the mer had heard that before. _Alphahole._ He shrugged with every ounce of confidence in himself. “Go on, tell me.”

  
  


“There is a vacant gap in your head where common sense goes, another one where any decency would be, but the biggest gap is where personality, self respect, and sense of self is supposed to go.” Felix was keenly aware of his co-workers’ eyes on them. The whole bar, for that matter.

“You have no substance to you, and you deserve an award for _Most Daddy Issues_ considering how much you spend here”- _that was a lot coming from Felix-_ “You use your money and decent looks to land hook-ups with humans for some sick sense of, _what_? Validation? Someone to fall for your stupid act?”

Whether any of this was true or not, Felix didn’t know. He assumed based on how the mer acted, who he’d chat up- _oh,_ and the drink he ordered. _Who liked blue lagoons, anyway_?

  
  


He must have hit a nerve, because the mer shot up and sent him a death glare. “You think you know so much about me, huh, Legs?”

  
  


Satisfied, and in fear of losing his job, Felix put a bored face on. “I _do_ know that you’re leaving skin flakes everywhere.”

The mer looked down as if to confirm the dead skin was there. He had never let that happen before.

“Oh,” Felix added, “and it probably kills you to go home without a girl tonight.”

  
  


“You’re a sad little bastard.” The mer was already storming for the door when he added, _“See if I ever come back here again!”_

Did he seriously think that was a threat? More like a dream come true for Felix. He wanted to flip him off, but settled for yelling _“Fuck you, fishdicks!”_ as he walked out.

Business returned like nothing had ever happened. Mercedes and Emile threw him sympathetic looks before moving to leave, too.

He dreaded the talk his boss would have with him.

* * *

Three miracles happened to Felix.

First, he survived the wrath of his boss, Rhea. _Boy, did she yell him out-_ the wraith still shuddered when he thought of it. 

That should’ve been an accomplishment on its own, to scare a wraith. Rhea was not a kind woman.

His second miracle was that, despite it all, he was able to keep his job. Keeping his job meant rent would be paid, and he wouldn’t have to move back in with his father. Which would always rank number-one on his priority list.

Third miracle had been getting paid that week. Well, maybe he can depend on that, but he was sure Rhea would hold his checks back. A tiny blessing, but one not overlooked. 

  
  


It had been a week since… _The Incident,_ and Felix hadn’t seen the mer.

So, he banked on this. Hoped this was a silent fourth miracle.

  
  


In the back of his head, he could hear his dad’s nagging voice: _‘Things come in threes.’_

His father said that back when he urged him to become a _Reaper_ . Which… was a fancy title for _Funeral Home Director_ these days. He practically forced Felix. Told him that to _“prepare him”._

Back in a time long lost, wraiths were _actual_ Reapers. Collected souls ripe for departure and took them to _The Beyond_. But, those days were long gone. Now, it was a modern age of technology. An urban and contemporary time, free from the confines of old world nonsense. No need to perform any sacred duties. A fancy machine for that existed, somewhere. 

**_Deaths_ ** _came in threes_ , Felix had to remind himself. Miracles didn’t need restrictions or requirements. He wouldn’t listen to his inner saboteur that presented itself as his father. He left that life long ago, he was free.

Felix shook his head as if it’d shoo the thoughts away. No time to think about such things.

  
  


When one regular went, another came. Rather, _quite_ a few came.

A wolf pack _suddenly_ found this bar to be the best place to conduct official meetings. Felix didn’t mind any of them- _okay,_ except _one_ . Or, _scratch that_ , _two_. He hated two of the wolves. 

One was a giant, bulky man with the most awful mullet Felix had ever seen. Whenever he walked in, Felix bit down the urge to say something. That wolf, in particular, shouted as loud as he possibly could. Made messes and never bothered to clean. Hell, he barely paid his tab.

The other wolf was his girlfriend- a pink-haired thing who sat on his lap and made a point to tell him how funny all of his jokes were. She popped her gum as hard as she possibly could, and twirled her hair.

Dumb, and in love. But what made Felix despise them was how they seemed to be in constant competition to laugh and howl louder than each other. _And Goddess help everyone when they started to make out-_

  
  
  


Next on his list of new regulars came a brooding Fae. Tall, one blue eye patched over, unbrushed sun-bleached hair, and a collection of scars that told their own story. Felix supposed the Fae was fine. He never said anything, only signaled for more drinks. 

Still, something about him never sat fully right with Felix. He shrugged it off, though. His job was to serve, not make moral assessments about everyone. _Old wraith habits die hard._

If the mer spent obscene money, then the Fae spent downright _ungodly_ money. Tipped bigger. An immediate step up, considering the mer never tipped.

That Fae was occupying his bar. He played with his glass, sliding it between his hands. His face was downcast, contemplative. Felix wordlessly slipped another drink to him even if he didn’t signal for it.

“ _Thank you,_ ” he muttered. Second time he ever spoke.

  
  


Behind Felix, the clock showed his lunch break should be soon. Could he believe it? Probably not. That clock was older than him, he came to learn. The belltower hadn’t rang, so that clock would have to do for the day. That, and that technology and machinery never worked they way they're supposed to when around ghosts and wraiths. But Felix was tired of it all. Of lights flickering in his presence, special locks not opening for him, and not being wraith-enough to phase through the doors they blocked.

He needed to get away from the city. From the headache of pedestrian traffic, and serving them.

_No-_

_As if thinking about headaches summoned him…_

  
  
  


The mer strode through the door like nothing ever happened.

With each swaggering step, an annoying amount of vanity bounced off him. The mer waved to random patrons that ignored him. And, like that place was reserved for him, he hopped on the seat directly across where Felix stood. 

Next to the Fae, too.

“You know the usual, Legs.” He tossed a wink at Felix, and his credit card.

When the Fae got a look at who sat next to him, he choked on his drink.

It wasn’t his time to go. A small choke certainly wouldn’t kill him, despite his overreaction- Felix sensed that, and deemed it not important to bother. _Yay for being a wraith_ , he thought.

The choking caught the mer’s attention. He swiveled. His lack of tact could be impressive, if you liked idiots. “No way,” he breathed. The mer clapped his hands and screeched, “ _Dimitri_ ?! Is that you?!”  
  


On the other hand, the Fae- _Dimitri_ \- desperately tried to catch his breath. Felix slid him some water. Dimitri took some gulps and panted. “ _Oh, Goddess-_ ”

“You remember me, don’t you?! You have to! It’s me, dude! It’s-”

Dimitri kept his head down. “ _Sylvain_ -” 

  
  


_Ah_ . _So that was the bastard’s name._

Felix decided to stand back and watch this one play out.

  
  


Sylvain shook Dimitri’s shoulders. The massive Fae prince swayed as if he was made of paper. “You never visit me anymore!” he whined.

Dimitri, somehow, managed to get a shot in. “I never visited you to begin with.”

  
  


Finding out they must’ve been acquainted came as a less-than-pleasant surprise to Felix. What did this mean? That all things would lead back to the mer- rather- Sylvain? Goddess, the fact that he even knew his name felt fundamentally wrong.

Felix rolled his eyes.

A gesture Sylvain thought was for him. “You don’t understand, Legs,” he laughed. Loud enough to rival the wolves that hung around, but that wasn’t important. “This Fae Prince and I go way back.”

“I’m not a Prince,” Dimitri grunted.

Sylvain grabbed Dimitri’s drink, finishing it in a chug. “Whatever, dude, your family is, like, filthy rich, anyway.”

“Your family’s wealth rivals mine.” The pained look on Dimitri’s face said he wanted to be anywhere but here. _Ditto_ , Felix itched to reply. _Dit-fucking-to_.

Right, Felix hadn’t started on that blue lagoon yet, either. He kept one ear out as he floated to his station.

  
  


“So, how come your uncle hasn’t been to the country club? Or you?” Sylvain slurped down the water meant for Dimitri, too. His skin visibly appeared fresher, smoother.

“Because my uncle died, you fucking asshole.”

The mer paused for a good second. He reached behind him and snatched up a half-gone drink from a passed out patron. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” sobbed Sylvain, his voice dripping in exaggerated heartbreak.

If Dimitri started swinging, _and he sure looked seconds away from it_ , Felix would not be able to blame him. “It was five years ago. You were at the funeral.” Each word more clipped than the last.

Sylvain froze. Something must have just clicked in his head. “Ohhh-” cut off by his own slurping- “so **_that’s_ ** what that party was about.”

“Why, yes, funerals are rather glum.” The shot glass being empty didn’t stop Dimitri from taking a swig. It was an emotional comfort thing at this point. He pushed it towards Felix, only for it to slide right off the bar with a _crash_.

Great, another mess for Felix to clean. Broken glass crunched under his work boots as he whirled to give Sylvain his drink.

Dimitri darted up, one eye wide and bloodshot. “ _Add it to my tab_ ,” he barely managed to croak before dashing out the door.

  
  


_And then there were two._

Sylvain’s obnoxious slurps had him finishing his drink in no time. “Be a dear and get me another, Legs?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Felix had the foresight to make two drinks. He watered them down, too. What Sylvain didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  
  


“It’s a term of endearment”- the mer paused, pinning Felix with his stare- “ _Legs_.” Harsh emphasis on the word made Felix cringe. Though, not as hard as he cringed when Sylvain held one glass in each hand.

Both straws in his mouth, he sipped, “You’re a good bartender, you know? I like you, Legs.”

  
  


_‘Like’_ was an awfully strong for the mer to toss- considering Felix couldn’t tolerate him most days. “Shouldn’t you hate me or something?” he asked.

  
  


“Why would I?” From Sylvain’s angle, the bartender didn’t look half bad with a broom. His black apron tied around his neck and back with a small bow that didn’t go unnoticed to Sylvain. “You’ll make for a great domestic partner one day, by the way.”

  
  


“Are you playing dumb?” Maybe he didn’t even need to play dumb, Felix considered. 

Oh, the urge to chuck the shards of glass at Sylvain was unbearably strong. It took a concentrated effort for Felix to march to the trash can, dumping the dustpan out.

  
  


Sylvain shot a disgustingly sweet smile. “We bickered once. All couples do.” He shrugged.

“You didn’t come here for a whole week.”

  
  


The mer cooed in a way that had heat rising in Felix, “Aww, you kept track~? You missed little ol’ me~?”

Red crept onto the wraith’s face. A spectacle rarer than scaring one: _flustering one_. Felix’s ponytail whipped across his neck as he looked away. “Look, it’s just that-”

By some miracle, Ashe, one of Felix’s coworkers, tapped his shoulder to take his lunch break. Felix wasted no time to untie his apron. He didn’t bother giving a second glance to Sylvain, or saying a goodbye, rushing nearly as fast as the Fae had.

Felix already heard Sylvain try to flirt with Ashe: _“You know, I’ve never been with an elf before-”_

* * *

  
  


Sometimes, Felix forgot living beings- even half- need to eat. He hardly felt the rumble of hunger, and naturally disregarded food. His scarcely stocked fridge had no ingredients for a home cooked lunch, so meals were what he could pick up from any quick stops on his way to work. 

Ashe took him to a food truck, once, owned by an angel who came from Duscur. The truck had to be absurdly large to accommodate for the owner’s wingspan. His food was always exceptional. Felix didn’t quite mind hanging around there.

He leaned against the truck one night, clad in his white work shirt and already tied apron, and asked, “Have you considered selling drinks here?”

“I do.” The owner stuck a bronze arm out, pointing to the menu. Lemonade, water, and a few different canned soda options. 

Felix frowned. “No, like, alcohol.”

The angel’s white brows furrowed in confusion as he said, “I do not understand why I would do that.”

Ever naïve, those angels. Their conversations were brief. Nothing above small banter. Felix took his to-go bag and headed to his job.

Work went about as average as possible. No regulars, but the same old type of crowd that The Monastery attracted. When he got to thinking about the lack of regulars, his mind darted to Sylvain. 

He couldn’t believe himself-

The Fae who tipped generously hadn’t come around, neither had Mercedes, or the wolves. But they didn’t cross his mind the way Sylvain did. He called Felix a good bartender, said _‘Legs’_ was a term of endearment…. Why did Felix care, anyway? Sylvain didn’t even know his own name. It was stupid for him to get caught up on such things.

His face might as well have been permanently etched into a pout at this point.

  
  


Lunch coming around meant Felix sat on the other side of the bar. He grabbed his bag from one of the many mini-fridges and plopped down on a creaky stool. It buckled slightly under his weight. He got the phantom sense that whoever sat here next would break the old thing.

With nothing much to do, he pulled out his phone, and let himself get lost in the rabbit hole of his old friend’s social media pages. He never used his own accounts, anyway. Only to follow the food truck he liked, and watch people from afar.

There was something about the night that made him reflective. The first page he opened was Ingrid’s- a human girl he went to school with that loved caring for animals. It came as no surprise to see she became a pegasi veterinarian. He scrolled mindlessly through her _magigram_ , until he hit the bottom. 

Her first post was a picture of her on the back of a pegasus. Simple, innocent enough. By some compulsion, he checked the comments. 

They were decent, most telling her _‘love this!’_ , one saying _‘you’ll turn rock that vet school’_. He never knew she was this popular with how flooded the comments were.

One comment in particular stood out from the others: _‘haha i wonder what else u will ride? ;)’_

What a fucking tool, and what a sad excuse of a pick up line. He had to see who wrote that lame shit.

  
  


Felix swore his heart stopped for a second when the mer flashed on his screen.

Sylvain’s _magigram_ was obnoxious. Neon lighting chronicled a new party each night in nearly all his photos. In his selfies, he threw up a peace sign, winked, or stuck his tongue out- sometimes all three. No surprise he’d hit up Ingrid like that.

Not being able to stop there, Felix tapped through his stories. 

He shouldn’t care. In fact, he _totally_ didn’t care. He just… couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  
  


The story started off with a barely awake Sylvain in bed. He winked at the camera and licked his lips, the text captioning: _‘POV: you woke up next to me and want round 2’_. 

For a second, Felix can only feel a sense of astonishment. Technology evolved to be mer-proof, and this asshole used it to post shit like _that_.

After, came Sylvain showing off some kills he got in a game about an inking turf war. His entire day was spread out on his story, from whom he hung with to where he went. 

One of his more recent stories, posted thirty minutes ago, was a mirror pic captioned: _‘heading out.’_

Last story came. A picture of patrons at a packed bar. Posted mere seconds ago, and geo-tagged at The Monastery. 

Felix felt his soul enter The Beyond when he spotted his own hunched over silhouette in it.

  
  
  


“Be honest, Legs, are you obsessed with me?” Sylvain purred right into his ear.

  
  


Rational thinking was beyond him at this point. Felix jumped, causing his phone to hit the ground, and his shoulder to crash right into Sylvain’s nose.

There was only a small time window for him to explain. To make this as normal as possible. 

  
  


Sylvain held his nose with one hand, dipping down to pick up Felix’s phone. Only, Felix jerked over to pick it first, swatting at Sylvain.

  
  


They locked eyes for a second. Then two. Oddly, Sylvain didn’t look remotely mad. Just confused, if not slightly humored over everything.

  
  


“It really isn’t what you think-” 

  
  


“You were checking my magigram, so what? You probably found me from one of my streams anyway,” he said nonchalantly. Too much so for someone with a bleeding nose. Within seconds, it stopped; the magic of the remaining saltwater on his skin working for him.

  
  


Felix blinked slowly. “Streams? Wait-” he shook his head. “What are you even doing here?”

He immediately realized how dumb of a question that was. 

  
  


Sylvain ruffled up what he could of Felix’s hair, causing his bun to loosen and fly away strands to pop up everywhere. “What do people do here?” He winked at someone passing by, unintentionally answering his own question.

  
  


“Typical,” Felix muttered. His lunch was getting cold. Despite losing his appetite, he figured it’d be better to force himself to eat than not at all.

Until Sylvain reached for Felix’s unguarded phone. He felt his stomach rise to his throat. “It’s not fair that you went through my account and I can’t see yours.” Sylvain tapped along Felix’s phone as if it was his own.

Felix hated how frozen he felt. There was nothing stopping him from snatching his phone back, but he couldn’t. Just stared in mild horror while Sylvain basically invaded his privacy. 

He frowned, “Your account is so bare.” He was right. Felix had no followers, followed only one page, no posts, no profile picture, no bio description. Blank. He might as well have had no account at all. 

  
  


But Sylvain smiled.

Those tightly stretched lips only hinted at something evil. He slung an arm over Felix’s shoulder and tucked him in close. “You know what’s the best way to break in an account?” 

He hit the camera button.

  
  


Felix tried to jerk the phone away, but to no avail. The camera light flashed. The moment was immortalized.

Sylvain had an ear-to-ear grin, winking, and Felix looked like an angry, unfocused blur on the screen. The mer posted it. “See? Don’t we look cute here?”

  
  


“No.” The timer on Felix's phone went off, alerting the end of his break. He stomped over to the other side of the bar. 

This would be another long night.

He didn’t make a move to delete the photo, though.

* * *

That night was full of Sylvain shenanigans. He spammed Felix’s own story with his selfies, tons of filters and candid shots of Felix himself. They talked, and Sylvain acted normal, for once. He completely forgot about searching for a hookup, though he was still painfully annoying to Felix. Albeit, in an oddly endearing way now.

Ugh, Felix really hated himself for even thinking that.

Though, Sylvain ended up leaving with someone anyway. She sought him out. A siren from his region of the sea. Her long, curly brown hair framed her heart-shaped face, lit up by her emerald eyes and her visible patches of moss green scales. Dorothea dragged him by his collar. He hardly minded at all.

* * *

Sylvain messaged Felix through magigram the next morning. Felix ignored him. There was a cycle of that. He’d tag Felix in something, and Felix quickly learnt how to untag himself, or report Sylvain’s comment. Yet, he never blocked Sylvain, despite that being the simplest option.

The photo was still up on Felix’s account, too. Something about it made him smirk. Made him snicker at his own expense. The caption read ‘ _BESTIES_ ’ had Felix wondering if no one else could stand Sylvain enough to be his best friend. 

* * *

Another day passed without much excitement. Sylvain’s small talk messages went ignored a little bit longer. But Felix decided to give some of his old friends a follow. It was time he left his shell, anyway.

* * *

In the days following, Felix had a surge in messages. People being surprised he actually resurfaced and stopped being a hermit, the less welcomed ‘concerned’ family reaching out, and Sylvain tossing Felix into groupchats.

What was the point? Felix left all of them, anyway.

One morning, Felix got non-stop notifications about messages and posts from Sylvain.

That siren girl robbed him blind. Stole a debit card and ran it dry. Had been doing that for about a week after every night spent together.

Sylvain posted a story of him crying in front of his green-screened-in negative bank account. The next story post was him playing the inking turf-war game with a blue eyed Fae that had poofed-up green hair like a mushroom, encapsulated in an air bubble. Sylvain was going to be okay.

Felix went back to Sylvain’s first story post, and replied to it: ‘that’s what you deserve for being dumb.’

It was the first time Felix texted him.

* * *

Texting Sylvain wasn’t such a daunting task anymore. It became easier with each message back and forth. Felix smirked when Sylvain initially told him he was cruel for saying he deserved to be robbed. If Felix was candid, he’d been making bets with himself on when such would happen.

Sylvain would get drunk and wave around wads of cash at The Monastery. This was a long time coming.

He hoped the siren treated herself.

A bit of digging led Felix to her magigram, where her latest string of posts littered with shopping bags confirmed she did.

  
  


From there, Felix engaged Sylvain’s small talk and jokes in bits at a time. The normal guy under Sylvain’s playboy persona was enjoyable, but Felix had the feeling he was still holding back. Understandably so- he had to remind himself. They weren’t close or anything. 

They chatted idly with no real direction. Sometimes it would get deep, and sometimes it would stay surface level. The latter was more often than not, and the “deep” was bits of backstory Sylvain offered. Felix wasn’t going to coax, and Sylvain had no rush to reveal.

Was this what making friends was like? Felix had forgotten.

He didn’t entirely hate it.

* * *

  
  


Behind blackout curtains, blankets pulled over his head, and his face buried in the pillows, Felix could not register the sun in his cave of a room. What he did register was his notifications being blown up. He muttered curses as he rolled over to check his phone.

In the most unsurprising turn of events, Sylvain added him to another group chat; which he promptly left.

  
  


Steadily, he felt the motions of sleep. His eyes grew heavier, his breaths a little more shallow. Warm, numb tingling took to Felix’s legs--

But it didn’t last when his phone started ringing.

One video call from Sylvain.

Felix answered it with his camera blocked by his hand. “Fuck off, I’m sleeping,” he grunted his greeting.

  
  


Sylvain was wide awake, large iced coffee in hand as he loudly slurped from it. “You’re not sleeping if you just answered me, silly.”

“I _was_ sleeping.” Felix took deep breaths to steady himself. Freshly up and already annoyed. That was the life of Felix Fraldarius. He moved his hand, only his forehead visible from the angle, checking the time. “What do you want this early?”

  
  


The camera blurred with motion as Sylvain dashed around his underwater apartment. In his mer form, his orange and crimson facial scales had shone vividly like gems pressed on his face. His pupils slit his eyes like a cat, and his lips were tinted slightly blue in the middle. Sylvain would be nice to look at if Felix didn’t know how he was as an individual.

Same could be said of his human form if he didn’t shower in cologne which made being near him unbearable. 

Sylvain’s red hair floated above him like a flame atop his head. “Are you off today?” His expression was nothing short of devious.

Not caring, and not wanting to find out what Sylvain wanted, Felix said, “No. I’m going back to bed.” Felix flipped over, phone in hand, and a bit more of him showed. Sylvain could see the invisible tips of Felix’s slightly pointed ears. Then his invisible fingertips as his hand hovered above the screen to end the call.

Underwater cities operated so differently than those above ground. Felix always wanted to buy a bubble for visiting, but he never got around to it. With Sylvain on his trail like this, he was sure he'd go longer without. He'd live. As much as a technically undead being could.  
  


“Don’t go!” Sylvain whined.

“Watch me,” Felix taunted, and hung up.

The good thing about being a Wraith was that, unlike the Fae, they could lie. And Felix saying he didn’t have the day off was nothing short of one. His bed felt a little warmer, blankets a little cozier. When he closed his eyes, it took him longer than usual until he fell back asleep. His mind was occupied, thoughts full and swirling about Sylvain- even if they weren't the nicest.


	2. You're a Mean One, Mr. Bartender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix is a Yule elitist. He can't help it!

After sleeping for a few more hours, Felix only got up when his cat decided it was time to be up. She was tiny in length and stout in size. Gray fur led up to a tail of blue heatless flames. She purred as she plopped right on Felix’s throat to knead her paws on his face.

As the story once went, Wraiths once enlisted the help of lower-classed demons that took on feline forms to carry the worst of souls to… Wherever they went. Felix didn’t care to learn. Most of Wraith lore was lost on him, but he sure remembered the part about cats. He wondered if that was why he loved them so much. Over time, those assistants slowly turned more domestic. More grimalkin, until they were vaguely demonic companions.

Nora’s stinky breath made Felix wrinkle his nose. “I’m up, I’m up,” he mumbled to her. Sometimes, he felt like she understood more than she let on. She jumped off the bed and padded her way into the kitchen, circling her food bowl.

“You’re impatient.” Felix dipped down to scratch her little head. 

She yowled back at him as if to say _‘I know~’_.

Her being late into her pregnancy, too, meant she ate a lot. She had a whole litter to feed. He needed to think of something to do with those kittens. Felix had a lot on his mind at any given time. 

His apartment felt cramped today. Seeing glimpses of Sylvain’s place, how it seemed to expand with each post and story. On call this morning, too.

 _Saints_. Sylvain video-calling him felt too long ago and too recent simultaneously. Mornings ago, and seconds ago at the same time. 

The pantry was lodged in the hallway between his bedroom and the kitchen. Two steps, and he stood in front of it. Maybe his apartment space was minimal, but not everyone could live in immaculate places like Sylvain. There Felix went thinking about him again.

Felix needed a hobby. Anything that wouldn’t down the path of thinking about that cursed mer.

He waved his hand around his head like it’d force the thoughts to go away. When he reached for Nora’s food bag, though- Empty.

Great.

A day-in foiled.

Whatever. He could run to the store and back quick enough.

Nora blinked slowly at him and clawed at the bag, tipping it over. She yowled. Felix wondered if he imagined it when he interpreted her cries for his own language. _‘See? Nothing!’_ Nora would’ve said. He often thought she was more lower-class demon, and less feline than her registry claimed. 

Felix’s gray sweatpants and black hoodie looked clean enough to wear out. They weren’t supposed to be nightclothes, but they sure became just that. He washed them the day before, so he supposed it was fine.

  
  


“I’ll be back,” he called to Nora. She answered with a mewl and rubbed against his leg, trotting back into his room.

  
  


Felix’s apartment complex had not been the fanciest thing out there. Rather, its glory days were far behind. Converted from an old war hospital, it still operated in some old ways. The second level became a small non-emergency clinic, and the first floor still had a gift shop and a cafeteria. The receptionist now letting in tenants instead of visitors. 

She was probably about as old as the building itself.

 _Madam Casagranda_ , as she liked to be called, kicked her legs up on the desk and flipped through the pages of a gossip magazine. Her skin was tinted a slight pink like she was blushing all over. Two small black horns sat on her forehead, underneath her hairline. Her orange scleras and snake-slitted black pupils were hard not to stare into. From Felix’s understanding, she was a succubus that defied demon standards by learning to heal.

She smiled, the fangs that flashed purely serpentine. “Where are you heading out to so early?” she beckoned.

Hitting on everyone was a part of her daily routine.

Felix smirked. “Why do you care, Madam Casagranda?” She was annoying, but knew her limits.

“Oh, please, don’t worry about that silly title.” She set her magazine down and zipped over on her gliding chair to hit a button, opening the front door for Felix. “You can call me Manuela, or _tonight,_ ” she cooed.

  
  


Felix tossed a half wave as he exited, breaking out into a jog. The goal was to spend as little time out as possible. After all, he had some very important duties to tend to- like sleeping, video games with fishing minigames, and watching after a pregnant demonoid. Back at home, he had a book of baby names waiting on his desk. Nora’s type of demon usually only had one kitten, but twins- triplets, even- were always a possibility. He’d name one Gertrude. That was already decided, just not the other names.

  
  
  


The convenience store down the block started to expand, recently. What was once a ma-and-pa place became bigger with each passing month. It made Felix happy given the owners were humans.

It didn’t necessarily matter, anyway. Being sentimental was bad, and he was here for cat food.

Somewhere, crumbled up in his pocket, was a list of recommended foods given to Felix by his vet. The same list got rewritten on his phone notes, too. But after earlier, he had not been fully sure that he even wanted to touch that damn thing for a while.

Vet’s written note, it was.

As if the handwriting wasn’t hard enough to understand on it’s own, the smudged ink surely didn’t make it any better. Nor could Felix exactly remember what days his vet’s office was open. Winging it was the only choice. Felix wondered if Nora knew how much he loved her, grabbing the first thing he saw.

It didn’t take one whole step before guilt had Felix spinning on his heel. Nora was a good cat, she deserved better. Begrudgingly, Felix pulled out his phone. His slow pace and twisted expression would make anything think the phone hurt him to touch. 

In several ways, it did, though.

  
  


No notifications from Sylvain. A relief, yet Felix frowned despite _thinking_ he felt quite the opposite.

Whatever. He grabbed the proper food and (admittedly) stormed over to the self-checkouts. 

Small talk physically hurt him. Felix avoided assisted service whenever he could. He didn’t care about the weather, and knew the employees likely didn’t either. There was no need for idle chit-chat. It contributed greatly to why Felix liked customers like the Fae- _Dimitri._ Who spoke nothing and handled his own.

Then came customers like Sylvain. Far beyond the concept of small talk and went straight to the point. A hard hitter in his own way. Felix respected that-

_No._

He’d respect it in anyone _but_ Sylvain.

  
  


Felix’s walk home was oddly empty. Quiet for a man who liked practical isolation. Today, he felt the lack of another presence. And when it started to drizzle, it felt fitting. The rest of the day consisted of him moving between his bed and couch. Not quite feeling content in either place. Pacing from his bedroom, to the kitchen, to the living room. He was bored. Lonely. His phone remained with little notifications- none being from Sylvian. 

Felix centered on the fact that it meant Sylvain took him seriously. He didn’t realize Felix lied, and gave him space. 

_It’s the bare minimum_ , Felix rationally reminded himself. _Anyone with half a brain would do the same._

He kept refreshing his magigram feed for a reason he wasn’t entirely sure of. Closing it, reopening it, closing it again until something new was posted. 

Sylvain didn’t post until late in the night. A story update. Him and two other people, one being the green haired Fae, and another being a woodland dryad Felix had never seen before. With moss eyes and beautifully tanned skin as if the sun himself gave him extra kisses, and long antlers on his head. All three of them were smiling. _Happy_.

He captioned his story with ‘Night in’, but Felix noticed the lack of air bubbles. Knew Sylvain was on the surface.

Why did he even bother to take note? It didn’t matter. Really. It didn’t bother Felix at all. He put his phone down, and let himself be lulled to sleep by the background noise as he flipped through television channels.

* * *

Felix didn’t make it through the whole night on that blasted couch. His back hurt, his neck was crooked the whole night. Waking up with a grievance list already. Nothing could compare to the annoyance that shot through him when his phone rang.

He peeked briefly through his window, night full, moon hung heavy. Even that small amount of light hurt his eyes.

Much to his dismay, his phone hadn’t stopped, either. Calling Felix at an unholy hour was a crime punishable by death. Or, at least getting ignored. 

Felix did just that. 

He rejected the call without even caring who it was. Not like he’d be able to tell. His eyes had a hard time acclimating to the screen’s glow. Another wraith quality.

Immediately thereafter, Felix got a notification. 

For a second, muted alarm shot through him. Too drowsy to care, yet also feeling something akin to guilt woke him up enough to. He rubbed his eyes furiously. 

And wondered if it was another one of Sylvain’s late night antics.

Felix squinted against the harsh shine of his screen, but was only met with disappointment.

One missed call and a voicemail from _‘IGNORE ME’._

Which meant it was his father.

Considering his dad was a selfish man. He likely didn’t care how late it was. That Felix would be asleep. Felix didn’t listen to the rational part of his brain when it reminded him how late his father worked, that he probably wanted to speak to his son after a long day.

Then came the text. Three hit combo.

Felix didn’t bother with that one, and went right back to bed.

* * *

Not being surrounded by blackout curtains did a number on Felix.

Rushing sunlight had him up with the appearance of the first bright rays over the city. 

Last night wasn’t real. He’d repeat it to himself until he believed it. He wouldn’t open his eyes, despite the light beating down on him. Not until he could convince himself everything would be normal.

But, Felix could never trick himself. 

The call, the voicemail, and the text all came around _10 pm._

He swore it was 3 am.

Regardless, now it meant Felix lost his edge. Would have to find another reason to tack up for his disdain against Rodrigue.

Listening to the voicemail came first. Thirty seconds, and all his father managed to accomplish was getting on Felix’s nerves. Words came in one ear and out the other. The first syllable, and everything started to drown out. 

The text, however-

Infinitely worse.

  
  


Felix read it a few times over. Maybe concentrating hard enough would change the words he saw-- They wouldn’t. But it didn’t stop Felix from hoping it was a hidden wraith talent.

* * *

IGNORE ME

10:30

  
  
  
 _‘Hello, son. In case you did not listen to the voicemail,_ _the Ethereal Moon is almost upon us._ _Your mother misses you_. _Give your old folks a visit._ _We expect to see you at the family Yule party. Love you.’_

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Shit.

Felix hated a lot of things right now. 

He hated this couch for being so miserable to sleep on, the sun for being bright. He hated that his father anticipated him not listening to the voicemail-

And most importantly, he hated Sylvain for the late night call not being him. For the fact that Felix was left to deal with this.

“Nora, does it ever end?” he grumbled, face now buried in a cushion.

The cat, who slept peacefully on the rocking chair adjacent to the couch, snored in response.

He hadn’t envied cats as much as he did in this moment.

* * *

There was something weird going on. Even if the Ethereal Moon would come in a few days, it felt suspicious that The Monastery had to be in the middle of hanging Yule decorations after his dad texted him about such.

Ashe waved down from his perch high on a ladder, wrapping plastic garland with pale leaves and red berries along the walls. Multicolored lights lined the entrance with a bundle of dried mistletoe hanging a few spaces apart. It was _disgusting_.

Despite it, Felix waved back at Ashe before officially clocking in.

He already saw the outline of a regular. Wide shoulders appearing more broad under his black fur lined coat. Underneath blond hair, peaks of pointed ears stuck out. And from the look of it, the Fae refused to be served by anyone else.

Felix slipped behind the counter with ghostly silence. “Dimitri.” He slipped his go-to drink over.

Dimitri raised his glass, promptly shooting it back. “Bartender.”

  
  


He may have learned the Fae’s name from Sylvain’s loud mouth, but did Sylvain even know his name at that point? Felix’s eyes darted down to where his name tag should be if he didn’t cover it with his apron. If not then, he sure knew now with how he bulldozed into Felix’s life. One of their first conversations outside of work was a game of _20 Questions-_ initiated by Sylvain, with Felix responding to every inquiry with _‘No’._

Felix and Dimitri went on with a steady pace, same as most nights. A back and forth trade of a refilled glass, and more bills coming out of the Fae’s hand each time. Felix found no issue in pocketing all that came his way.

After some time with no words spoken, Dimitri finally uttered. “... Ears,”

  
  


Was it like the Fae to have body part based nicknames, too? Felix instinctively shot a hand up to touch at them. Having his hair in a half bun with the bottom layer down _did_ leave his ears exposed. Not like that was extraordinary. “What about them?”

“They sort of… stop,” Dimitri trailed off in amusement. He leaned in, and almost looked inclined to reach out, but slumped back in his stool. 

Felix let a few strands of hair loose to cover the tips. “You never seen a Wraith before?” Hell, had Dimitri even been paying attention to his hands that faded into a corporeal sort of transparency?

And like that, it got quiet again. If full Wraiths got poked and prodded the way half-Wraiths did, Felix did not want to find out.

  
  


From the supply closet, a coworker was hauling out a fake tree while another trailed behind with a box of ornaments. “Seriously?” Felix grumbled more to himself, “While we have guests?”

Though, at that point, maybe he was looking for anything to complain about.

  
  


Dimitri wrinkled his nose. In a voice too princely for how drunk he got, he challenged, “Is it not admirable to spread holiday cheer?”

“No.” Felix never answered that fast in his life.

  
  


And, Saints so help him, if Felix heard even one Yule song before the Ethereal Moon’s official start- someone would pay.

He scornfully watched the tree getting set up, dead center of the room. The top of the tacky thing nearly hit the ceiling. “Why would Saint Indech want something so..” Felix trailed, bunching his face up in revulsion. “So… obscene.” 

No old writings ever indicated Saint Indech as a gaudy man who liked the public eye. Rather, quite the opposite. He was told to be a shy, reclusive man. One that only rewarded those who deserve it. Be good, and Saint Indech will bless you tenfold on the Goddess’ behalf. 

Saint Indech was a dignified man, and Yuletide celebrations in this day and age was anything _but_. 

Felix’s thought process flowed as if he were there to recount the days Saint Indech walked the ground of Fodlan. 

  
  


Dimitri pushed his empty glass to Felix. “Indech, while a man of modesty, surely must have appreciated indulging a little,” he countered. With every glass down, the Fae’s accent became a bit more apparent. Spoken like a man of the Woods, trills in his voice and odd sounding vowels.

Which made Felix’s train of thought circle to Sylvain, and how his Oceanic accent must have been trained out of him. Water Creatures usually had more strangely melodic voices, sentences spoken in song. Sylvain sounded like a frat boy.

  
  
  


“Indulgence is for idiots,” Felix spat in a flat tone. Idiots like his dad, and Sylvain.

He eyed Dimitri’s glass and brought it over to the sink. No more drinks for him.

Dimitri being able to sit up straight was nothing short of a miracle. Either he had some ungodly Fae tolerance, or put on his best show to look as stable as possible. 

The Fae was stunned. “A true fool is one whose foundation is built upon the _rubbery_ \- _robbery_ \- of happiness.”

“A true fool, in my definition, is someone too drunk to speak properly.” Felix gave Dimitri water, delighting in the way he deflated at that.

Felix’s gaze returned to the Yuletree. “Which brings me back to that-” he pointed- “and how people use it as an excuse to make asses of themselves.”

Dimitri’s face scrunched up at the water like it was something truly disgusting. “With all respect, how is it any of your business?”

  
  


_Ouch._

Because Felix needed to be called out on top of everything else. He scanned for the first thing he saw to occupy himself with- a cart of cleaning bottles and a rag.

He sprayed directly in front of Dimitri, some of the cleaning solution coming very near to gettin on him. 

Barhoppers passing out on the counters, or drunken brawls that only increased the closer it came to Yule. 

_Or people begging him to come home._

That was all very much a part of Felix’s business.

“People make it my responsibility.”

“Is it naturally yours, or do you force your way into it?” Though Dimitri’s tone was calm, Felix felt the punch straight to his gut with that.

  
  


Fists balled around the rag tight enough that Felix’s knuckles turned transparent rather than white. “I could ask you the same,” he breathed, voice deceptively monotone. “Why do you care about why I care?”

Alright, it made no sense- but Felix thought it did at the time. 

With each wipe, Felix’s arm extended more, the rag getting a little closer to Dimitri and hitting him.

  
“Clearly, this is a sensitive subject for you.” Dimitri got off the stool, fishing for his wallet. He put a bill down on the bar. “Until next time.”

  
  


It was surprising enough that the Fae still left a tip. Felix moved to grab it. 

Underneath that bill, though-

A business card for a therapist.

  
  


Felix’s hand itched to rip it up, but put it in his pocket.

* * *

It wasn’t until an ungodly hour in the night that Felix finally slumped his way home. Far after Dimitri went, he kept staring at the therapist’s card left for him.

  
  


What set him off? Felix picked his brain apart. 

On his bed, with knees tucked to his chest, Felix replayed every event of the night in his head. It wasn’t like he hated Yule season- in fact, Yule season used to be his favorite time. But was setting up a tree really worth his aggression? It changed him. Put him in a stand-offish mood for the rest of his shift.

The thing was, Felix knew exactly what put him in a mood. 

  
  


Felix was too ashamed to admit that his father could bring out the worst in him. 

His issues were his alone. He hated people that projected. But, now Felix found himself guilty of exactly that.

He didn’t want to go home for the holidays. Seeing his family, hearing their backhanded comments. Compliments meant to highlight the worst in a person, and questions meant to make you second-guess yourself. Distant relatives that knew no boundaries, and an overbearing father who’d hound him about taking over the funeral home.

_Too much._

Felix couldn’t handle that on his own. But there would be no way he could tell anyone that, either.

In the dark corners of his mind, he remembered the first Yule after his brother… _vanished_ . The pity that only lasted a minute before sharp-tongued aunts drew comparisons. Highlighting all Glenn did right, and what Felix did wrong. Uncles forcing sympathy. Cousins that said sorry before running off to be with _their_ siblings- _because they still had some._

Rumors flurried about left and right after that. Some said Glenn couldn’t handle how Rodrigue parented. Others would whisper of him being spirited away, sent to the layer of Hell where Wraiths belonged. The most outlandish claim was Glenn leaving to be an assassin. Did they even exist anymore?

That meant nothing to Felix, anyway. Only that Glenn was no longer with him.

No goodbyes, no notes, no reason why. No destination, no answers. 

Glenn was gone. 

And Felix was by himself. 

  
  


He had not been home in a while. Being gone for this Yule party would not be out of character for him. Hell, Felix didn’t go to the last three. It would hurt no one if he missed another.

He settled on another year in his solitary apartment.

  
  


_Felix needed a drink._

Pushing off his bed was a concentrated effort. Legs threatened to give out, already having gone numb and asleep. 

Felix hid some wine deep in the back of his fridge for situations like this. No fancy glasses. He didn’t need them. He fiddled with the cork stopper until it popped out somewhere Felix didn’t bother to look, and brought the bottle directly to his lips.

  
  


The one thing that shook him from his wine daze was his phone ringing in the other room.

  
  


_Sylvain._

Alright, he’ll play along.

Felix had one more swig before he answered. _“What do you want?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing kills a person like working retail during the holidays! I meant to post this ON christmas, but better late than never!


	3. Daddy Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> totally wasn't intentional that this baby was ready to post on Felix's birthday, but here we are!! happy birthday to my favorite workaholic wraith!

Sylvain dealt with his life issues in the only way he knew how: being hungover.

_Not drunk_. That was no good. Even he knew he wasn’t the smartest, and trusted himself less when active alcohol consumption got involved. However, _when_ _hungover_ -

It gave him the perfect excuse to duck out of a situation.

He went out the night before, saw two of his surface-dwelling friends.

Both traveled long distances to be there, and came through for their friend. If he was honest, he would struggle to do the same for them.

They watched dumb movies, played stupid drinking games with bad liquor. A lovely combination to be completely done-in the next morning. 

And he’d be sick enough to bullshit his way through a family meeting.

Everyone had their fun, Sylvain had his socialization of the month, and his friends could stop begging him to not game so much, or to skip a bar night to see them.

He spent that day in one of the many land properties his family owned. It became his second residence. Somewhere to escape to when he was sick of the water. The custom, large, saltwater pool within ensured his skin kept moisturized. The perfect set up, and hide-away.

All matters settled.

So he thought.

  
  


Swaying into his family’s underwater estate was his first mistake. His tail too limp to propel him, shoulders sagging, chest drooping. It felt like an impossible task to get himself upright. In the grand corridor, past the entrance of the house, Sylvain pressed his forehead to the cold white marble walls. He wanted to be anywhere else but here. 

The one thing that kept him moving was the comfort he could leave soon.

Statues of ancestors that ruled the seas long before Sylvain stood between each door. He had the feeling that these sculptures were judging him, watching with every wavering movement and dizzied slap of his tail. 

Porcelain, mother of pearl, stained glass- every piece of art grand, extravagant. The sort of wealth you could only garner from a strong political family.

He had a gut feeling that was the reason behind his summon.

There was no need for clothes underwater as on the surface. Despite that, expectations were set. Robes, capes richly colored with the finest dyes, fat jewels like plump fruit, hair decorations, topped off with a crown. 

Sylvain wore none of that. 

He had a hoodie taken from the human world. Painfully informal, insulting. Dark shades covered his bloodshot and glassy eyes, the puffs around them. 

Labeling plaques above each door was Sylvain’s saving grace. The place was massive beyond reason. He would’ve gotten lost ten times over, otherwise. 

In the world above, tales were spun of Fae mazes. Impossible hedge gardens with no clear cut destination, stairways that trailed endlessly upwards, or down. Mirror covered rooms meant to confuse the wanderer for eternity. 

He only thought what humans would think of Mer architecture. Long hallways with no end in sight. Bad enough to even confuse the Mer themselves. 

For a second, his new friend flashed on his mind. Felix had to work at the spiraling Monastery. Would this house be a breeze for him, or would he curse it and flip off the statues?

Not like Sylvain wanted Felix to meet his family, anyway. 

Felix- it was odd for Sylvain. That was his personal happiness. Going to the Monastery used to be for the drinks, but Sylvain found himself going for Felix. Their messages between visits, whenever Felix didn’t work. Sylvain didn’t want that to go away. Knew his dad would make it go away if he found out.

It made Sylvain twitch. Found out what? His son associated with a half-wraith bartender?  _ Or- _

Sylvain forced his focus to stay on the plagues.

  
  


When he found the meeting chambers, Sylvain made a show of struggling inside, tail hitting the door frame and body clumsily shifting. Floating to the chair at the end of the lengthy table was an effort. He braced his hands on the arms, flattening himself against the high-backed seat.

On the other end, his father sat alone. No mother, no supervisors, nor courtiers. This was private business.

Already upset, his dad scowled, “Take your glasses off, boy, and face me.”

It didn’t get any better when he saw how beaten up his son looked. “Do you _ want _ to drag our reputation through the ground?”

  
  


Sylvain gave no answer. He looked down or around the room. Anywhere but his father’s direction. A world he didn’t ask to be born into, a lifestyle he never wanted. How was it his responsibility to live for the image of someone else? Why was it his burden to bear?

He genuinely hated being the son of the Prime Minister of Faerghus’ Seas. 

Sylvain schooled his face to change. From sick, to carefree and reckless. “ _ Do I? _ ” He glanced at his dad before slumping forward, elbow on the table and his chin resting on his fist. 

  
  


Every region of Fodlan had their parties, their leaders. Such was the same of the seas. It wasn’t uncommon for Sea and Land rulers to not get along. Oftentimes, unions were forged with opposite sides of the map. 

Sylvain’s father was eager to get a good impression with Leicester Alliance’s current acting Land President, and there was a roster of unmarried daughters to pave his way in.

  
  


“I’ve received word,” his father started. He leaned over to pull out a briefcase, slammed it on the table with a  _ thunk _ . Files came out one by one. They were stacked. Four in total. “You’re acting careless above ground.”

  
  


Sylvain gulped.

  
  


A file drifted to him on a directed wave. Sylvain felt queasy now. His father gestured, and the file opened on its own. The first paper was a candid shot of Sylvain with Dorothea. In the background, Felix.

“Do you realize she was sent to humiliate you? And what did you do?” With another wave of the hand, the page flew to reveal the one behind it. Sylvain’s negative bank account. “You were too thick-skulled.  _ You stupid boy!” _

Sylvain grabbed the first page before it got too far. His thumb smoothed over where Felix stood. The face of his friend was scrunched, pointed at Dorothea- though, he supposed they weren’t quite friends at that point… _ were they? _

“Dorothea used to live here. Her theater troupe used to be the entertainment at _ all  _ your parties.” he countered, but knew it mattered nothing to his father. He knew Dorothea wasn’t here to spy. His dad always tried to scare him, but he wouldn’t call his bluff. Not directly, at least.

No comment about Felix. It gave him a temporary sense of solace.  _ They were safe.  _

The document stack was thick, but the Prime Minister withdrew it, sending down a new file.

“You’re 25, no power, no motivation.” His father tapped his fingers as he spoke. “But you’re unmarried.” The file in Sylvain’s hands opened, revealing complete profiles of girls he’d never seen before.

All the daughters of somebody who was anybody in the Leicester Alliance.

  
  


“Whoever controls the Alliance, controls Almyra.  _ Do you understand? _ ”

Nobody quite knew what happened to the head of either land. Almyra, still operating in ancient ways, had a monarchy to be upheld. The Alliance worked in ways that was considered unorthodox at the time of it's conception- no true leader. One appointed head from every major territory within, and one who acted as the main leader during unions with other countries; a seat belonging to the Riegans for the longest time. Though, in recent times, Duke Oswald Riegan grew weaker, sicker by every passing down. With his stepping down, Count Gloucester came into power. 

Across the border, the next heir to the Almyran throne could not be located. It didn't take long until rumors swirled. The sudden disappearance of Oswald's grandson, and how the current reigning Almyran king was in a pinch to find a new inheritor. Some connected the two. Firm believers gossiped until it came a pseudo-truth. They began to say Prince Khalid, a wood nymph with horns of a deer and green eyes like grass covered in morning dew had left. Had walked into the forest, and never returned.

Prime Minister Gautier saw a free-for-all in that absence. A surplus of land and power to usurp from the rightful owners.  
  


But Sylvain didn’t understand. What did it matter to him? Why should it? He let go of the second folder, content to watch all the documents scatter. He clutched on the photo of him, Felix, and Dorothea.

His father’s mouth was moving, but Sylvain was unable to focus. He kept looking down where his thumb ran small circles. Right over Felix’s face. The nerves in Sylvain’s stomach shook, but this made it better. He thought about ambushing Felix at work, forcing him into a candid shot.

A hiccup. Sylvain lifted a finger to speak, make some interjection. 

Nothing came out in time before he threw up inside of his dad’s meeting chambers.

* * *

  
  


Nothing made sense from there on out.

Somewhere, in the chaos of it all, Sylvain blacked out. When he awoke, he was floating on his back, staring up at a ceiling painted like a coral reef. 

_ Home.  _ Land apartment, then.

Every bit of his stomach ached. Saliva collected in the back of his mouth, he felt the familiar constricting of his throat- but nothing came. He’d rather make a mess than have the lingering phantom of illness.

He didn’t remember how he got back, but he sure wasn’t going to complain. It was simultaneous; he noticed his lack of clothes when he spotted the robe on the granite deck. Tail turned to legs when Sylvain hoisted his body over the rim. Had not bothered swimming to get to the step-stairs.

  
  


Faintly, he heard someone rummaging through beyond the pool room. Sylvain tossed the robe on, holding it closed with a hand, and let unsteady legs guide him.

Sylvain’s investigation led him to the kitchen.

A puff of green hair poked out from behind an open fridge. Blue eyes followed, head creeping up ever slow. _ Linhardt _ , Sylvain recognized. His voice was rather cheery for someone who was  _ supposed _ to be hungover. 

“Welcome back!” he chirped. Pointed ears barely broke past the fluff of his hair, low ponytail hanging over a shoulder. 

Breakfast sat on the table. _ Who was it for? _ Sylvain held on to the wall for support to walk over, plopping ungracefully to sit. Linhardt followed Sylvain’s stare and pushed the plate of food towards him. “I already ate,” he said, going back and grabbing something from the fridge.

  
  


“You probably have a lot of questions right now.” Linhardt set a glass of orange juice down before Sylvain. “But I think we should go for the most obvious. Why am I wearing your shirt right now?”

Probably not Sylvain’s first question, but he had no will to speak. Much less did he notice that,  _ indeed _ , Linhardt was wearing Sylvain’s shirt, too big and falling mid-thigh. 

His first meal consisted of a sliced banana, blueberries, half an avocado, and dried dates. Linhardt had always been better at anticipating Sylvain’s needs better than his own self.

“Not that you noticed, but I passed out in your linen closet. When I woke up, you were gone. So, like any rational person, I took a bath, right? And-”

  
  


Sylvain took a sip of juice to wet his throat. “How did I get home?” 

  
  


“I was getting there if you would’ve let me finish.” Linhardt rolled his eyes. He tossed a pill bottle over from where stood, picking apart the cabinets. “Anyway, I heard a knock, but my clothes were in the washer, so I took yours. Your dad carried you home over his shoulder, wrapped in a blanket. But, like, what did he want me to do? I can’t carry you, I’m rather dainty and small-”

Sylvain cut him an irritated look.  _ Get on with it. _

“You’re so impolite! He threw you in the pool, not me, obviously. Your legs turned upon contact. Can I use you to conduct an experiment? I really want to gauge how your unconscious body reacts to water.”

Linhardt sat across from the mer at the table. His legs shifted. “By the way, I’m not wearing underwear, so I was really nervous that I’d end up flashing your father.”

  
  


Too many words spoken for Sylvain to process. He rubbed his temples, head in his hand. The bay window was letting in an irritating amount of light. Sylvain’s eyes stung with the looming migraine. He certainly didn’t bother to look at what Linhardt gave him.

Sylvain spoke after a heavy spell of silence. “Did he say anything?” _ How bad did I fuck up? _

  
  


“He said you’re on Sea-restrictions for a week. Doesn’t want you near water until he smooths some things out.” 

Which meant: he’d give Sylvain no opportunity to embarrass him. Something big was around the corner for his dad to want him _ out  _ for a week.

  
  


_ Fair, _ Sylvain guessed. He never spent much time home, as was. He spent  _ even less _ time in Faerghus seas.

His college years were in Adrestia. Precisely how he met Dorothea, and Linhardt. Sylvain took up some degree he could not fully recall. Something with business. From there, he formed perhaps the closest bonds of his life with an actress and the greatest scientist that never was. 

Maybe there was a small part of Sylvain that felt some connection to them. With Dorothea, a girl that wanted to be taken care of, but guarded herself too closely to let anyone see in. To Linhardt, who had an equally strong family within Adrestia’s political scene; a treasure trove to inherit, yet wanting nothing to do with it.

Sylvain remembered how smart Linhardt was. The youngest person accepted into the university at 17, entering when Sylvain was in his sophomore year. Now, two years later, Linhardt neared graduation. 

He reflected on Dorothea. Sylvain had no desire to personally care for her, but he had the means to help her. He did exactly that. He set her up to work for his father’s personal entertainment troupe, a spot in the best stage he could think of.

With an equal amount of himself to protect, he’d let Dorothea see him past his facades. With the stress of appeasing a family that wanted only what he could offer, that cared little for Sylvain himself. He let Linhardt remind him to live for himself.

Yet, at times, it all felt distant when his father reared his big, ugly head back in his life.

  
  


After a beat of silence, Sylvain said, “He fell for the trap.”

  
  


Linhardt looked at Sylvain over his shoulder with an arched brow. “A trap implies that it would have impacted your father in some way.”

The Fae from Faerghus were vastly different from their Adrestian relatives. Sylvain was used to Fae with the edge that ferality brought. Adrestian Fae were wise, ancient in spirit, having grown alongside the  _ faeries _ they descended from.

“It  _ did  _ impact my dad,” Sylvain started to explain. “He thinks I let a random girl touch our fortune, he doesn’t know I plotted with Dorothea.” 

Sylvain unscrewed the bottle, shaking some pills on his sweat-coated palm. “I wanted Dorothea to at least  _ pretend _ she took my card. You really think you can’t fake stuff?”

Linhardt’s eyes wandered, as if he could watch events unfold that he was not physically there to see. He snapped back to reality and nodded. “Your dad has to explain what his son is doing with some B-list actress for the weekend to his allies.”

  
  


Dorothea wasn’t some B-list actress, but Sylvain could not handle another argument. “Bingo.”

  
  


“Gotta say, I’m hurt you didn’t include me in your plans,” Linhardt whined with a pouty lip.

  
  


“I’ll make it up to you.” The mer smiled with his cheeks wide from food. 

  
  


“With pomegranate wine and a movie?” Linhardt cooed. He got up and made a show of stretching his limbs. Slightly did the shirt rise to confirm that Linhardt wore only that. He went to a far off room before returning with an empty sheet. 

Linhardt held it face down. “You were clutching this when you came, by the way. Figured you’d want it.”

Curiosity piqued. Sylvain tentatively reached out for the laminated paper. Flipping it over-  _ Felix _ . The photo his dad used to taunt him. Sylvain had to remind himself that Dorothea was there, too.

He must have zoned out. Linhardt let out a high-pitched whine, bringing him back. Sylvain nodded too fast, “Sure.” His eyes darted back to the picture. “Let me nap first.”

* * *

  
  
  


One coma later, Sylvain fulfilled his promise. Linhardt picked a film based off a book he once read, and tore it apart. Citing scenes they removed, added in, things they’ve done wrong; all while he drank wine like water.

_ “He’s not real!” Linhardt exclaimed with deep woe in his voice. “The movie made him up! He’s not in any of the books!” _

  
  


They cuddled, their limbs a mess tangled in each other. When Linhardt got sick of the movie, he’d flip over and kiss Sylvain with slow, lazy motions. Sylvain tasted the sweet tang of wine residue in his mouth, saw the stains on his teeth. Had it been anyone else, Sylvain would’ve thought it was gross. 

But, Linhardt was young. Full of youth and freedom with a need for more experiences. Getting drunk off Linhardt’s ripe mouth sounded nice.

All their relationship amounted to was someone to spend time with. Linhardt knew Sylvain would distract him if asked. Far from the first time they did something like this. Kiss because their mouths were far more interesting than what they were doing.

That was all they’d ever be. Nothing more than to appease Linhardt’s whims. Sylvain would never find his happiness with him. 

The movie ended. Linhardt got off Sylvain’s lap, said his goodbyes with a forehead kiss, and left.

Which left Sylvain by himself. Again.

  
  


His eyes centered on the rolling credits, but it blurred in front of him. Letters turning into blurs of white that danced over the screen. Sylvain’s mind can reach dark places when left alone. There was a pattern to it, though.

It’d start off with remembering each insult from his father. Every hissed ‘ _ stupid fool _ ’ under his father’s breath at state dinners felt like glass in Sylvain’s lungs. Each time he’d grip his son’s arm until talons sank in, calling Sylvain  _ pathetic _ and a  _ coward _ if he cried.

Sylvain never knew how much worse his life could get. Would get.

After Miklan, his older brother, sold out Faerghus secrets to the highest bidder. He was disowned, and Sylvain stopped existing as himself. No longer a happy, swimming boy. But his father’s personal project. The perfect heir breeding machine.

Sylvain felt the back of his mouth water with the anticipation of vomiting.

He needed someone. Now.

He stumbled off his couch. Searching for his phone, his desperation had his heart pounding rapidly. 

Who was available? Not his other friend. He left Faerghus earlier that morning. He must have already been close to Leicester territory. 

And when Sylvain thought of the Alliance, the folder full of arranged-marriage-contenders popped in his thoughts. Their profiles flashed with high speeds. An image of Felix in the mix.

The tiny voice in Sylvain’s head repeated facts about girls he never knew. __

Only the heavens knew what Linhardt could’ve been up to. Sylvain didn’t want to show the vulnerability it took in asking him to stay. He wouldn’t ask for him to return, either.

Dorothea didn’t seem too great of an option, lest he’d create another  _ situation _ .

He couldn’t recall any more friends. In truth, Sylvain never had many. Not ones that mattered, anyway.

  
  


Yet, without giving much thought, Sylvain searched for a number he knew he had no right to call. It should not have been his strongest instinct. There was no way to take back his actions when he clicked the contact’s name, and let the phone ring.

  
  


Sylvain’s heart nearly stopped when he heard the scratch of Felix’s voice. _ “What do you want?” _

He had no answer. He froze, his face like a gaping fish. A rosy sheen covered Sylvain’s face. Loud  _ thumps _ could be heard with his heart pounding against his chest.

_ “Well? Make it quick, or I’m hanging up.”  _ There was a slight slur when Felix spoke. Was he drunk, too? 

  
  


“Hi?” choked Sylvain. That crack in his voice had to be imagined. It wasn’t real, he didn’t embarrass himself in front of Felix-

  
  


There was an echo on Felix’s line. Alone. His gulps were deep before he responded. “ _ Yeah, hi, whatever. Why are you calling me at 3 a.m?” _

  
  


Sylvain knew why, in theory, but he couldn’t account for why  _ him _ . Why he needed Felix. He cleared his throat, and mustered up the bravado he secretly lacked. “If I asked you to, would you meet me somewhere right now?”

  
  


He pictured Felix angling his head, sharp features becoming softened by curiosity.  _ “Maybe,”  _ the wraith responded. 

It was up to Sylvain to come up with a plan.

* * *

  
  


For a (mer)man who was always ten fins ahead, Sylvain sure had a hard time figuring out what to do. 

Asking an obviously intoxicated Felix to drive didn’t seem safe. Then again, Sylvain wasn’t even sure that Felix could drive. It took at least fifteen minutes of persuasion until he convinced Felix to give out his address.  _ (And for Felix to admit that, no, he can’t drive. He wouldn’t want to, anyway. It’s not environmentally, nor financially friendly.) _

Sylvain hunted for a good meet-up spot. One long drive away for him, and a short walk away for Felix. After splashing saltwater on his face, Sylvain headed for a park on the other side of the city.

He anxiously toyed with the pocket of his jacket. His fingers opened and closed it over, and over. It wasn’t until he saw a swaying form emerging from afar did he stop. He couldn’t pin the reason for his butterflies.

By the Goddess, Felix looked worse than Sylvain did. Unbound hair frizzed around him like a storm cloud atop his head. Sylvain had not gone that long without seeing Felix, but his eyebags were definitely more pronounced. His cheeks more sunken in. Still in his work clothes, Sylvain could spot the spilled wine on his white button-up, outlining where the black apron should be. He held that damned bottle like a lifeline, too.

Felix played with the hair tie around his wine-bearing wrist as he approached. It almost looked as if he was nervous. Sylvain couldn’t begin to think why. Felix’s gaze averted when their eyes met. 

Sylvain initiated the meeting with a wave. 

“Why did you call me here?” Breaking the silence first was Felix. 

  
  


Sylvain had not meant to sound so rude, and  _ yet _ \- “Have you, like, not hung out with friends before?” 

Which made Sylvain mentally cycle back to him being unsure if Felix had friends. The wraith’s face scrunched up as if he heard Sylvain’s thoughts. “Doesn’t matter, you’re with me now.” 

_ Smooth recovery _ , Sylvain told himself.

He scooted over, making room on the iron bench, patting the empty space next to him. “It’s been a while since we talked.”

Felix hated the way he missed Sylvain’s presence. He sat down, clumsily crossing his legs. “Two days,” he corrected. That wouldn’t change the fact he kept waiting for Sylvain’s call.

Sylvain blew out a soft whistle. This shouldn’t have been hard for him.

But it was. It drove Sylvain wild that he didn’t know why.

Even intoxicated, Felix was ever so… Felix. Being covered in a full body blush didn’t change that. His hardened expression would not be any less daunting with a red glow to it. But, it did make it cuter. 

Felix shifted. One hand on his knee, the other occupying the space between him and Sylvain. Briefly did it brush his own. Sylvain had to remind himself that Felix was drunk. Probably just touchy, despite the grouchiness.

“So,” Sylvain whispered.

_ “So?”  _ the wraith countered.

Felix was, for lack of a better word, very fucking hard to communicate with. People were supposed to get looser the more they drank. But Felix’s teeth were wine-stained, and he was as guarded as ever. That issue was unique to Felix. Any other person would be easy to talk to. Sylvain seemed to entertain the company of drunkards on a frequent basis. 

His mind flashed to tipsy Linhardt. Inhuman tolerance had him finishing a bottle and walk out just fine. Not like Felix. Clumsy legs uncrossed and entering Sylvain’s personal space.

Those butterflies persisted. 

Especially when hazel eyes softened, not turning away when Sylvain looked back. Lessened harshness, with an abundance of… something else. Something Sylvain couldn’t quite place.

  
  


“Anything cool happened in the past two days?” Sylvain asked. Anything to get the ball rolling. 

However, Felix only muttered _ ‘anything cool’ i _ n a mocking tone. But Sylvain was used to this. 

If Felix wouldn’t talk, then fine, Sylvain would. That’s how their conversations went, anyway. Sylvain offering surface level information, and Felix sharing what he related to. 

He gestured for the wine bottle in the wraith’s hand. Felix tightened his grip defensively, but slowly passed it over.

This wasn’t the expensive pomegranate wine that Linhardt favored. The dry taste suggested it was second-pressed fruit. Elderberries, to be exact. It didn’t smell as pleasant, either. In place of the sweet, fruitiness came a strong waft of pure alcohol. Sylvain’s nose burned.

But, it was strong. Sylvain needed that right now.

  
  


He took a swig. First drink of the night, reveling the feeling as it slid down his throat. “I invited some friends over, played a drinking game, had a bad hangover,” Sylvain began to chronicle. Another drink. “Had a meeting with my father.”

Wine spilled from the corner of the mer’s mouth. Felix watched it trail with dazed eyes. “My dad called, too.” Conversation enough without providing details.

  
  


That was the topic of the night, then. Sylvain nodded, took another sip, and gave Felix his wine back. “Dad was all pissed, you know? Gave me one of those annual  _ ‘get-your-life-together’  _ talks.”

Felix hummed in agreement, even though he could not relate. Thankfully, his father’s career did not depend on Felix’s reputation. With his own father, it was never that- the _ talks _ . No shaming. Only pleading. Begging his only son to come home, make things better. It’d be easier if his dad did yell at him. If Rodrigue told him to get his shit straight, profanity and all, Felix could take it.

But he didn’t. 

Rodrigue wanted his son by his side. His mother did, too. Felix wasn’t ready. He didn’t know how to navigate home life without Glenn by his side.

  
  


_ Not here _ , his mind whispered.  _ Not now _ . 

Felix dipped his head back and took in gulp after gloriously burning gulp. With his consumption settling, he felt lighter. Not so uptight. It was evident when Felix blurted, “ _ He told me to _ \- my father wants me home. For Yuletide.”

Vulnerability like that was rare. Sylvain felt taken aback. Peering through the cracks of Felix’s stone walls was no small thing. His airways tightened, lightheaded. Inexplicable, how one man had a strong sway on Sylvain. “I forgot completely about Yule,” he confessed.

Felix pursed his lips. “Don’t get me wrong, it is my favorite holiday, it’s just-” he paused, bringing a finger to those full lips, made purple from the wine- “I’m already Yule’d out.”

Working a public service job had a way of draining someone dry.

Sylvain arched a brow. “Any reason in specific?”

“Ask your friend,” the wraith ground out through his teeth. “The Fae-  _ Dimitri _ . He stopped by, well, earlier. Before I left. Came in and started on some ‘spreading cheer’ lecture, told me to indulge, or whatever.” 

He felt around himself before pulling something out from a backpocket. “The dick even gave me a fucking therapist’s card!” 

Something within Sylvain heated up over the thought. Dimitri with Felix. Alone. Sylvain should have been there instead of with Linhardt.

“I, uh- Maybe I was being a little uptight. Already been in a bad mood at that point. Because of my father.” Felix bit his wine-colored lip.

Mentally, Sylvain pieced together what he knew of Felix’s family. Which was… hardly much. Human mom, wraith dad. Brother he only mentioned once. A  _ very _ strained relationship with his father. 

“Do you want to go? To your parents, I mean,” Sylvain asked carefully. He reached his hand over, but unsure what to do. Between patting Felix’s back and shoulder, Sylvain rested somewhere in between and rubbed gently. Making purposeful contact, the chill that radiated from Felix. It was so oddly intimate.

“I want an actual meal,” the wraith murmured. Cup noodles weren’t cutting it anymore. Felix was getting desperate for his mom’s cooking, enough so that he would put up with Rodrigue for it.

With Sylvain’s latest fuck up, he hadn’t even considered what Yule would mean for him, his family. Another extravagant party. Faerghus politicians from every region would use it as a time to show off their wealth. 

He could invite Felix to come with him. If he wanted real food, the best chefs in the country would be there. Something in Sylvain told him that wasn’t right, though. Not what he could offer Felix.

Maybe it was the wine, or perhaps it was his best attempt to keep that roaring loneliness at bay. To run away from the vile thoughts haunting Sylvain when he was alone. 

He cleared his throat. Felix leaned in, attention grabbed.

“What if I went with you?” asked Sylvain.

  
  


Felix’s eyes went wide. The tip of his nose turned transparent where flushed skin should have been. “ _ No- _ ”

But Sylvain already cut him off. “Having someone there might make your old man ease off.”

He gave himself the luxury to snatch the bottle from Felix’s hold. He snorted before taking a sip. “Besides, I want to meet  _ the  _ Rodrigue Fraldarius, owner of Fraldarius Funerals.”

Felix scoffed, midway between offended and shocked. “How do you know that?” he snapped. It came out more of a demand. For good reason did Felix tell no one about the family business.

  
  


“Please,” Sylvain began, “I recognized you the second I saw you with your hair down.”

He sang a jingle, one that Felix and Glenn did for a commercial when they were kids.

_ ‘You wake up in bed, you find your wife dead. Skip the dread and call Fraldarius Funerals!’ _

  
  


The wraith playfully punched Sylvain. Or, rather, Sylvain told himself it was playful. “You’re an ass,” groaned Felix.

“I’m still going with you.”

  
  


Sylvain would be the death of a technically undead being. Not in any position to think clearly, to reject, Felix only shrugged. “Sure.”

Besides, Felix made worse decisions before.

**Author's Note:**

> sylvain plays splatoon and theres nothing you can do about it
> 
> if you enjoyed this fic, please consider following me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/xanthocera)!


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